


Bound, Unbound

by fragilelittleteacup



Series: Beyond, After, Together [1]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Blood Sharing, Bloodplay, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Hugs, Hurt Damon, Hurt Enzo, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kissing, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Season/Series 03, Rescue, Threesome, Violence, Whump, itll give you cavities, this is actually the fluffiest shit you will ever read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: AU: Damon rescues Enzo from the Augustine Society, but Enzo doesn't remember him... in fact, Enzo doesn't remember anything.(feat. Christmas fluff, brother cuteness, and dorks everywhere)





	1. Chapter 1

Stefan stood in front of the wall with his arms crossed.

It’d been eight months. Eight months since Elena was turned into a vampire, eight months since Damon had disappeared, and eight whole months of searching for him; and all Stefan had to show for it was a wall of maps and pictures that had led him nowhere.

Stefan would’ve liked to say his life was perfect–and, in a way, it was. His girlfriend loved him, and had accepted her immortal life better than any of them ever thought she’d be able to. They were happy. She was going off to college to become a doctor; to help people, just like her every instinct told her to. Stefan supported her. Caroline and Bonnie were going to be her roommates, and everything was going to be wonderful, happy, and brilliant in a way it hadn’t been in a long time.

Or. It would be, when Stefan got his brother back.

His last memory of Damon was immediately after Elena had been turned into a vampire; Damon had left the hospital, steps fast and angry, walking out into the rain, leather jacket immediately soaked with water.

“Damon!” Stefan had run after him, “Damon, come back-”

“She chose you, brother,” Damon had whispered, not turning around, “You’ve won. Congratulations.”

“Damon, that’s not–”

It was too late. Damon had run, faster than Stefan had wanted to chase.

He was ashamed to admit he’d let Damon leave.

At first, he’d just thought Damon needed to leave and lick his wounds, accept that Elena didn’t love him the way he loved her–and Stefan knew, now, that he’d been selfish, because he finally had the love of his life. He was finally with her, forever and always, and Damon couldn’t have her.

One month had passed, and Stefan hadn’t worried. He and Elena had hunted rabbits in the woods, hunted deer when she was faster and stronger, stolen blood bags from the hospital when Elena needed more. They’d kissed. They’d danced. They’d laughed and drank and celebrated the immortality that awaited them.

Two months passed. No one had worried, and Elena and her friends had left for college without a comment about who didn’t attend their going-away party.

Three months passed. When even Caroline started commenting on Damon’s absence, saying she missed his sarcasm, Stefan had to admit something was wrong. He had been going to join them, perhaps to take an ancient history class in order to actually learn something _new,_ but he had to stay. He needed to find Damon.

That was when he started looking.

First, he went to the places he suspected Damon may be hiding. A few bars Damon had frequented over the years. A few lovers Damon had taken a particular liking to. But, no matter where Stefan went, there wasn’t one single trace of his older brother. He even became desperate, started compelling townsfolk in an effort to ensure their full honesty. Not one person knew where Damon was, and not one single person lied to Stefan.

He knew it was probably nothing. Damon had done this before–hell, _Stefan_ had done this before. Cut ties. Run away. And it could’ve been worse; there had been no massacres, no body count, no dramatic reduction in population.

Which only made Stefan more worried. He didn’t know where Damon was. Or why he wasn’t coming home.

 

***

 

Damon yanked his hand out of the chest cavity.

His fingers came away soaked with blood, covered in congealed organ. The man below him gasped and gagged, choking on his own blood.

“Nothing you don’t deserve,” Damon murmured. He brought his fist down, skull crushing below his knuckles. The man fell limp, and Damon hauled him over his shoulder.

He drove to a cemetery on the edge of town, found a newly dug grave with fresh flowers. He dug it up, dropped the body onto the coffin, and replaced the dirt. When he was finished, he looked down at the grave, sighed, and returned to the lab. That godforsaken den of torture.

He cleaned up the mess he’d made, mopped up the blood, and poured the bodily fluids down the sink. Then, he took the gasoline out of his car, and spread it around as widely as its limited capacity would allow. Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t need much of it anyway.

Then he set the place on fire.

 

***

 

When he got back to his new apartment, Damon checked his phone again, and raised his eyebrows with unveiled displeasure. Three new missed calls from Stefan. With a dry chuckle, he slid the phone back into his pocket. He assumed Stefan thought this was about Elena; that he couldn’t handle losing the girl, and so was going on some petty killing spree.

 _If only,_ Damn thought soberly, _you knew the truth, brother._

It was kind of funny, that he’d chosen an apartment to live in _,_ of all things. So pedestrian. So _human_. It would’ve been amusing, had he not had other, more important, things to think about.

When he walked into the bedroom, Enzo was still asleep.

Enzo was always asleep.

Damon leaned against the doorframe, face tight with distress. He hadn’t gone looking for Enzo, because he hadn’t even known the vampire was still alive; he’d gone looking for revenge on the Augustine society’s legacy, but instead had found a very _active_ Augustine society and a few dozen undead prisoners. He’d killed everyone else, set the prisoners free, and saved Enzo. Of course, there was still more to do; the Augustines were well-connected, and there were more to kill before word spread too far about who was eliminating them, one by one, family by family, psycho by psycho.

Too many years too late.

Standing here, the sun setting through the small window, Damon felt the deep, painful swell of guilt in his gut. It was a sensation he was getting used to.

Enzo’s face was pale, dark shadows under his closed eyes. His hair was short; when Damon had found him, his head had been shaved to make way for the numerous brain surgeries the Augustines were doing on him. Damon couldn’t get the image out of his head; Enzo, strapped to a gurney, arms and legs pinned, a metal strap over his throat. For some reason, the strap over his neck had been the first thing Damon had noticed. _He can’t breathe,_ Damon had thought, nonsensically, _he can’t breathe._

Then, he’d snapped out of it, and noticed everything else. Like the cut splitting Enzo’s head down the middle, and the way his brain just _sat there,_ exposed to the air, a horrifically bright red beneath the fluorescent lights. Metal clamps held his skull open. His eyes, to Damon’s complete horror, were open.

He’d shoved his hand down the Augustine doctor’s throat, grabbed his tongue.

“Stitch him up, doc,” he’d said, no smile on his face, no joking in his voice, “Or I’ll kill you.”

No more elaboration had been needed.

That was eight months ago.

Enzo hadn’t woken since.

Damon sighed, slowly ambled into the room. He sat, just like he always did, and poured himself a drink. He had a sip, savoured the taste, and looked at Enzo for a long moment. He’d always thought Enzo was beautiful. Always loved the angle of his jaw, his endearingly spiky hair, his lopsided smirk. Like this, he was a pale, silent, unmoving shadow of himself.

But still beautiful.

Damon spent most of every day just watching him. If Enzo even flinched in his sleep, if he even _twitched,_ Damon had to be there. He owed him that.

Damon went to the kitchen, found a blood bag, returned to Enzo’s side. Every time he fed Enzo, he’d heal a little more, look a little healthier–but he had to take it slow. When Damon had escaped the Augustines, he’d drowned himself in human blood, and thrown up violently for the next few days. Drinking in excess didn’t serve starved prisoners very well. And Enzo was so damaged, so weak, that even after all these months he still had scars and needle marks and acid burns lingering on his skin.

Damon punctured the blood bag, lifted it to Enzo’s lips. He was expecting Enzo just lay there and swallow passively again, eyes closed, no response.

What he didn’t expect was for Enzo to _move._

He lifted a hand to clutch the blood bag, lips closing around the plastic against his mouth–he sucked the blood, throat rippling, and Damon’s eyes opened wide, heart suddenly hammering as Enzo’s face tightened in distress, need, _hunger_.

“Hey, buddy,” Damon breathed, “that’s it, drink up.”

He cupped the back of Enzo’s head as Enzo drank deeper, only just resisting the urge to flinch away as the too-vibrant memory of Enzo’s brain surgery flashed in his mind.

“That’s it, that’s it…”

Enzo drank the entire bag in less than a minute. Damon’s heart was beating far too fast. He could barely breathe. When Enzo was done, his hand fell back onto his chest, and he sighed contentedly. Damon swallowed, clenching his jaw, pulling the blood bag out from under Enzo’s fingers and depositing it on the bedside table.

“Hey, buddy. You with me?”

Enzo opened his eyes, dazed. Damon nearly died of shock. He hadn’t thought he’d see Enzo’s eyes again. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face; finally, things were taking a turn for the better. He’d help Enzo get better, and they’d be happy. They’d go to Cape Horn, just like Enzo had always talked about, and they could dine forever on the locals without fear of capture. Damon would rehabilitate him. Teach him how to adjust to life again.

“Hey,” Damon’s smile widened. “Good to see you again, Enzo.”

Enzo grinned. “How d’you know my name, gorgeous?”

Damon stopped smiling.

“…It’s me. Damon.”

Enzo smiled wider, laughed, and Damon’s heart was beating fast again, panicked. “Handsome name for a handsome face.”

_Shit. Shit._

Damon sat forward, took one of his hands, trying to breathe normally, trying to stay calm. “You remember me, right? Enzo?”

Enzo frowned, and the genuine confusion on his face made Damon feel sick.

“Should I?”

_No. No, no, no, please god no-_

Damon hung his head, rubbed a hand over his face. Enzo didn’t know him. Didn’t know what he’d done. A part of him rejoiced, but the rest of him was sickened, knowing his friend’s brain had been scrambled, torn at, dissected, until he couldn’t even remember his own life.

 _Or,_ he thought, _maybe it’s just the goddamn trauma of it all._

After all. It had been seventy years.

“So,” he looked up, smiling for the benefit of Enzo, “what do you remember?”

“I…” Enzo thought about it, frowning, “don’t remember anything… specific. I know my name is Enzo.”

_Shit._

“Well that’s…” Damon swallowed. “…good. I suppose. Your real name is Lorenzo St John.”

Enzo chuckled, and for a moment it was so easy to pretend that Enzo was _Enzo,_ laughing at the world, finding humour in his situation despite it all. Even when their torturers had dumped Enzo back in his cell, and he’d been on the edge of death, he’d still been hacking out hysterical bouts of laughter. The world had never been able to wear him down. Never been able to drive him to despair.

It was horrifying. To know that, instead, the world had driven him to madness.

“Well, good.” Enzo grinned, “I mean, what kind of a name is ‘Enzo’?”

Damon smirked, still holding his hand. “A dumb one.”

Enzo laughed again, “Thanks, gorgeous.”

Damon nodded, smiled unconvincingly.

 

***

 

Weeks passed. Damon had to keep reminding himself that he couldn’t be happy; Enzo might’ve been relaxed and cheerier than Damon had ever seen him, but the other shoe would eventually drop, and when it did there would be bloodshed. Damon knew Enzo would turn on him, and he didn’t mind waiting for it to happen; he knew he deserved it. Until then, he reasoned, he’d take care of Enzo, nurture him back to health, and willingly take whatever Enzo wanted to do to him once he remembered everything.

It was almost cathartic, after all these years of guilt.

They watched dumb movies, and Damon pretended not to enjoy them while Enzo marvelled at the fact that people could live on a small screen that one could turn on and off. They went out to bars and Damon compelled lovely young men and women to follow them into the toilets, where Enzo would drink his fill. Damon would hold them still from behind while Enzo fed, compel them to stay calm. Enzo would straighten up when it was finished, blood darkening his mouth, dripping down his chin, eyes wide with wonder and satisfaction. Damon would smile, reaching over and stroking a thumb over his lips.

“Keep it slow, Enzo,” he’d say, “You don’t want to go too far.”

He never said ‘kill them’ anymore, because the one time he had, Enzo’s face had gone tight with distress, and he’d stepped away, starting to panic.

Turned out death wasn’t an appealing prospect to someone with severe torture-induced amnesia.

They spent so much time together that Damon forgot about the phone calls, forgot about the heartbreak that had propelled him to leave Mystic Falls in the first place. Somehow, his pining devotion for Elena was fading; his love for Enzo was far older, far stronger, and utterly all-encompassing. He needed to finish this. However it ended, he needed to see this through to its end.

He owed Enzo everything.

 

***

 

“Alright,” Damon said, wandering into the living room, “I’ve got Twilight and Lesbian Vampire Killers. I suggest the latter, because those spritely little vampires are _hot,_ man. Totally inaccurate, but hot as hell.”

Enzo was standing at the window, not moving. Damon threw the DVDs onto the couch, pulling off his leather jacket. This was their fourth night in this week, owing to the snow outside, and the subsequent lack of people in bars to feed on. They’d finished the Harry Potter movies, a third of the James Bond franchise, and, of course, all of Die Hard. Damon did love the modern classics.

“Hey, buddy, come on, you’ve gotta pick one before I-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before he was pressed against a wall, a hand on his throat, fingers pressing hard into his windpipe.

Enzo’s face was blank. Tears made his eyes watery and big, and his mouth was set in a thin line. Damon looked up at him, and stayed very, very still.

“…Enzo?”

“I remember. I remember everything.”

Damon closed his eyes, breathed out slowly. He’d been waiting to hear those words. He felt fear, of course, but mostly he felt relief. It was time. Finally, he’d be punished, and he could stop feeling guilty.

“Look at me.” Enzo’s hand tightened on his throat, and there were fingers in Damon’s hair, yanking hard. “Look at me, you _coward!”_

Damon opened his eyes, swallowed around the pressure on his throat.

Enzo looked down at him, and there was fury in his eyes. “How could you. How could _do that to me?”_

“I’m sorry,” Damon tried to say, his voice coming out scratchy and hushed, “Enzo, I’m-”

Damon saw the blow coming, but he didn’t resist or try to escape. Enzo hit him, and Damon kept his eyes open, saw the sadness in his friend’s eyes, forced himself to witness all the misery and torment and pain that he was responsible for.

Enzo hit him again. And again. And again. He didn’t stop, and Damon didn’t try to stop him.

_“How could you do this to me?!”_

Damon heard a crack, and couldn’t tell whether it was the wall behind his head, or the snap of bone. He fell to his knees, where he belonged, and didn’t fight, even when his vision was going black, even when blood filled his mouth, even when his head pounded and he couldn’t breathe.

He felt Enzo fall down, onto his knees as well, leaning heavily against him; they were a small, huddled mass in the corner of a room they’d shared happily for so many nights until now, Damon’s blood covering them both. Damon leaned against Enzo, wheezing in breaths. He heard sobbing, and knew it wasn’t his own.

“How,” Enzo was whispering, breath hitching, “How could you,”

Damon tried to say he was sorry, but his mouth wasn’t working properly. He reached up, wrapping his arms around Enzo, ignoring the agony as broken bones protested the movement. A whine of pain passed his lips, but he gasped and panted his way through it, only caring about the crying man in his arms.

“I _trusted_ you,” Enzo was hissing, “I _trusted_ you, Damon, you were the _only one,”_

Damon hoped Enzo knew he was sorry. He hoped Enzo knew that he’d do anything to make this all better. He couldn’t do much more than hope.

The world fell away, and he was asleep.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stefan checked his phone, sighed.

No calls.

He was starting to think he wouldn’t see Damon again for at least a few years. It was funny how, when you were hanging out with humans, you started to perceive time the way they did. In the past, Stefan wouldn’t have been worried if Damon disappeared for two or more years, because that was practically a blink of an eye for them.

But now, the way that he was living? He wanted his brother back. Sooner rather than later.

“Aw,” Elena said, falling down onto the bed beside him, “You’re still worried?”

Stefan smiled, dropped the phone beside him. “Yeah. Guess I thought he’d call by now.”

Elena nodded, and Stefan was glad to see worry in her eyes; she cared for Damon, after all that’d happened, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He and Damon were inseparable, and would likely be that way for decades to come–Elena needed to be comfortable with Stefan’s only remaining family. 

“He’ll come around.” She took Stefan’s hand, squeezed it comfortingly. “When he’s ready.”

Stefan sighed, reached over to place his other hand over Elena’s. “I guess, but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know, I’m just worried. It’s been nine months now.”

Elena smiled comfortingly. “He needs time, Stefan. I chose you, and I’m sure that upset him. You know what Damon’s like.”

Stefan nodded, but wasn’t convinced. Elena saw the uncertain look in his eyes, and frowned.

“Do you think something else is happening here?”

“Well,” Stefan shrugged, “Think about it. In the past, when he hasn’t got what he wanted, what’s he done? He’s made a scene, Elena. Killed a few people, ruined a few lives. He should be making the headlines now, but instead he’s just…”

“…disappeared.” Elena nodded, concerned, lips pursed, “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“I’m not even sure if this is about you, Elena. I think he might be in trouble.”

Elena nodded. “Do you want me to help you look for him?”

Stefan shook his head, “No, you need to focus on your studies,” he leaned forward, kissed her cheek, and she giggled, “doctor Elena.”

 

***

 

Damon woke up slowly.

He wasn’t in too much pain, so that must’ve meant Enzo had taken pity on him and given him some of their blood bag supplies. The memory of the severe beating he’d just received rang clear in his memory, and Damon winced. He lifted a hand to his face, and it came away bloody. Some gentle, careful probing revealed that his wounds had mostly healed.

“I wouldn’t move too much, Damon, if I were you” Enzo said quietly, “You’re still in pretty bad shape.”

Damon’s chest tightened, and he swallowed deeply. His hand slowly fell back to his side.

“I almost wished I wouldn’t wake up,” Damon sighed, opening his eyes to gaze at the ceiling, “I didn’t really want you to have to look after me.”

Enzo was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Damon. His shoulders and back were tense, and he laughed shortly.

“Well, I suppose I owe you, right? After these past months. Everything you’ve done for me. Looking after me… nursing me back to health…”

Damon closed his eyes again. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Enzo laughed humourlessly. “Damn straight.”

They were silent for a while, and Damon slowly sat up. His body protested, aching in parts, and he could feel where his bones hadn’t quite healed, where they were still cracked with fissures, chipped from the fight.

“Fact is,” Enzo sighed, ran his hand over his hair–longer now, after all these weeks, “I went too far. You didn’t deserve that.”

Damon settled back against the headboard with a groan. “Yeah, I did. Don’t stress.”

Enzo turned around, face set, angry. “Why look after me at all? You knew I was going to get angry when I remembered. Why bother? Why not just kill me? Or abandon me all over again?”

“Because my _life_ is your property, dumbass!” Damon threw his arms out in a dramatic gesture that he immediately regretted. “I abandoned you! Now that I know you’re alive, my entire purpose is to repay you for-”

“For what?” Enzo stood, fast and angry, “For going off and living your life while I _burned?”_

“Yes!” Damon snarled back, “And I won’t _back off_ until you’re _happy,_ so I’m going to reunite you with the love of your life-”

“Who?” Enzo demanded.

“That Maggie woman! The one you wouldn’t shut up about while we were in captivity!”

Enzo threw back his head and laughed. Before Damon could move to defend himself, Enzo was on top of him, fist bunched in his shirt.

“You _idiot,”_ Enzo hissed, “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Damon opened his mouth, unsure whether a snarky comment would get him killed or not, but figuring he’d go for it anyway–but he didn’t get to take the risk, because Enzo was leaning down, yanking Damon upwards by his shirt.

Damon blinked, shocked into stillness.

 _Enzo,_ he thought, _is kissing me._

The fist gripping his shirt loosened, fingers fanning out across Damon’s collarbone. Damon closed his eyes, felt Enzo’s other hand grip the back of his neck. Eventually, their lips parted, and Damon felt a hushed breath against his mouth.

“You,” Enzo said, voice shaky, mouth against Damon’s cheek, “ _You’re_ the love of my life, _idiot._ ”

Damon swallowed.

“Maggie’s just… the person I held onto once you abandoned me.”

_Oh._

Damon tried to summon up an answer to that, a way to respond, but he couldn’t find the words. Even sarcasm had abandoned him, it seemed.

“But…” Enzo breathed, “After what happened last night… if you want to walk away, I’ll let you leave. I took it too far, and-”

“I’ve done worse.” Damon said quickly, propelled out of his stunned silence, “Much worse.”

Enzo stared down at him dryly, an eyebrow raised. “I know.”

Damon looked up at him, pained. “I’m sorry. Enzo, I…”

Instead of replying, Enzo kissed him again. Damon slid his hands up Enzo’s thighs, fingernails scraping over denim, but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t help the panic bubbling up his throat–he needed Enzo to _listen,_ he needed to try and _fix this-_

“No, no, listen,” Damon began, but Enzo was still kissing him, “Enzo-”

“It’s okay,” Enzo murmured, “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s _not,_ Enzo-”

“It is. It is.” Enzo leaned back, taking Damon’s head between his hands. Damon was stunned to see a small, bitter smile on his face, affection in his eyes. “What good does it do me to hate you, Damon? You’re all I’ve got. If I hate you, I have nothing.”

Damon smiled back, or tried to, but he could feel the tears in his eyes. “You should hate me. I deserve it.”

Enzo’s smile became sad, pained. “I’m also allowed to forgive you, gorgeous.”

Damon sniffed, tears filling his eyes. He felt pathetic. Weak. He wanted to tell Enzo everything, but he couldn’t bring himself to begin telling that story. He wanted to say, ‘I loved you too’, he wanted to tell Enzo the reason he’d needed to turn his humanity off in the first place; how else could he have abandoned the only person on the planet willing to suffer for him, willing to be tortured for him, willing to starve themselves for him? Willing to _trust_ him?

Instead, he smiled brokenly, and let Enzo wipe the tears off his cheeks as they fell.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered, as Enzo pulled him close, “I’ll make it all up to you. All those years. I promise.”

Enzo hugged him tight, chuckled. “You’d better.”

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Stefan wandered into Damon’s room and sat on the bed, staring glumly around him. The dust was beginning to settle around the room; Damon seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth, and Stefan didn’t know where to look next. Elena was back for Christmas break, along with Bonnie and Caroline, and the three of them were currently in the living room, comparing notes on how much work they’d done while at college. It was nice to have company again, nice not to be dwelling in a silent house.

But Stefan still wanted Damon back.

He sighed, ignoring the musky taste the air was getting. He’d need to vacuum soon, or just close the door and accept that Damon wasn’t coming home any time soon.

Just as he was considering going and joining the girls–maybe to jokingly brag about how he’d have done more academic study than the three of them combined, just to make Elena to smile and laugh–his phone rang.

He pulled it out of his pocket, confused, not sure who would be calling him. His eyes widened. The caller ID was Damon Salvatore.

He answered faster than humanly possible.

“Damon?”

 _“Hey, brother,”_ came the quiet reply, and Stefan smiled, because he could hear the grin in Damon’s words.

“It’s good to hear your voice again, Damon.”

_“The feeling’s mutual, little bro.”_

“How are you? It’s been a while.” It had been nearly a whole year, but he didn’t say that. Now really wasn’t the time to pick a fight.

 _“I’m good, Stefan. Listen,”_ there was a sigh on the other end of the line, _“the reason I didn’t come back has nothing to do with you or Elena. I promise I’m not being a sarcastic dick when I say I hope you two are happy.”_

That sounded suspiciously like a goodbye, and Stefan took a slow breath, nodded, wondered how to proceed. With tact, he reasoned. “Why didn’t you come home, then? Not nagging, just… curious.”

_“It’s… complicated.”_

Stefan heard someone else speak, a male voice. He thought he detected a faint accent, English maybe. He hoped to god it wasn’t Klaus.

“Complicated as in bad, Damon, or complicated as in inconvenient?”

There was a pause. _“Neither?”_

“If you needed help you’d ask for it, right? Damon?”

_“I’m fine, Stefan. I don’t need help, I promise.”_

The voice on the other end spoke up again, and Stefan heard Damon say, _“Go away,”_ in a whiny petulant manner that didn’t exactly suggest an imminent threat to his life. He guessed the person wasn’t Klaus, unless Damon had gone fully darkside.

 _“I’ll come home soon, maybe,”_ Damon said eventually, when he was done telling his mysterious companion to go away, _“I’m just settling an old score.”_

Stefan squinted. “What does that mean? What did you do?”

_“Nothing! I feel so attacked, honestly.”_

“Tell the truth, Damon.”

_“I’m the one paying up, Stefan, not the one collecting! Though it hasn’t turned out as bad as I imagined, really.”_

Huh. Not what Stefan expected. He was just glad to finally be having a conversation with Damon. “Who do you owe?”

 _“Doesn’t matter.”_ Damon cleared his throat. _“An old… friend.”_

“You hesitated.”

 _“We were…”_ Damon sighed, and Stefan heard the rustling of fabric, like Damon was falling down onto a couch, _“…in love? I guess? Once upon a time. A long time ago. Not really. I wouldn’t use the word ‘love’. I don’t think.”_ There was a pause, and Stefan couldn’t help but grin; it’d been a long time since he’d heard Damon so flustered over a girl. _“I should probably figure out exactly who we were to each other back in the day, huh.”_

“Okay,” Stefan said patiently, deciding he’d leave the teasing for a later date, “Are you with this friend now?”

_“Not right now, but yeah, generally speaking.”_

“Well, bring her over for Christmas then, would you?”

There was another pause. Longer this time. Then, Damon laughed, sounding inordinately amused for a reason Stefan didn’t really understand.

“You are coming home for Christmas, right?”

_“Stefan…”_

“Damon, please,” Stefan held up a hand in a placating manner, just out of habit, “just come home for Christmas, alright? For me, if nothing else.”

 _“…Sure, brother,”_ Damon said, and he sounded affectionate, affectionate enough that Stefan knew, just _knew,_ that Damon hadn’t been gone all this time because he was angry. It was relieving to realise, and Stefan smiled.

“I’ll see you soon, then.”

_“Sure. Until then, brother.”_

 

***

 

Damon was _alive._

The blood was coursing through him, thick and heavy and sweeter than anything that could possibly exist. Enzo lay against him, skin wet with the same blood that filled Damon’s smiling mouth, smeared over his face like a filthy, twisted finger painting, black in the darkness of the motel room.

“That was amazing,” Damon murmured, head on Enzo’s shoulder, hand pressed against a blood-slick abdomen.

“Well,” Enzo drawled, his accent thick and slow, “thank you.”

Damon smirked, “Oh, that was a self-congratulatory compliment, you’re just along for the ride.”

Enzo chuckled, “You do know how to charm a girl.”

“Speaking of girls,” Damon sat up enough so he could peer over Enzo to the fabulously flexible cleaning lady that lay on the other side of the bed, unconscious, “keep an eye on her, would you? Don’t want her to wake up and run off.”

“She’ll be asleep for a while yet, sweetheart,” Enzo drawled, “Until then, we have something to talk about.”

“Uh oh,” Damon lifted himself up onto his elbows, frowning, “That sounds bad.”

Enzo smiled, lazy and half-asleep from the blood they’d just gorged themselves on, and Damon couldn’t help but be distracted by how beautiful he looked, like some kind of ungodly saint, skin pearly white, the blood a vibrant red where the light shone through the blinds, his eyes dark and hungry. His scars had all faded, and he looked so whole and _powerful_ , warm and strong under Damon’s body. Just the hell of it, Damon reached up and mussed his hair a bit.

“Nothing bad, darling, I promise,” Enzo drawled, waving Damon’s hand away from his hair, “but we do need to discuss Christmas plans.”

Damon huffed out a laugh, eyebrows raised. “Ah. You heard that.” He lay back down, and Enzo’s hand returned to its post, curled around Damon’s shoulder. “So what?”

“I’d like to experience a family Christmas once in my lifetime,” Enzo mused quietly, “there’s a first time for everything.”

Damon clenched his jaw, frowning. All he knew was that Enzo had been sold to a factory as a child, grown up poor, and died of consumption–at which point some vampire, passing through the town, had taken pity on him and given him some blood. He realised he couldn’t deny Enzo this opportunity; it may never come around again, certainly not with any kind of relation Enzo could call his family. He had no blood relations any more.

“Yeah, I forgot about your shitty parents,” Damon lied, keeping the mood light. ‘Shitty’ was a massive understatement.

“Mm, that they were” Enzo mused, not bothered, “I had no siblings either. That I know of. Mother or father possibly spawned a few bastard children along the way, who knows.”

Damon hummed a quiet agreement, going along with the whole superficial I’m-not-bothered act. “We can go. It’ll probably be the whole shebang, though, I’ve gotta warn you.”

“Oh?” There was a smile in Enzo’s voice. “Do tell.”

“Friends, family, some randoms off the street… whole goddamn town will get involved in the celebrations…”

“Sounds delightful.”

“…tree decorating ceremonies, unnecessarily long speeches, stupid hats…”

“If you’re trying to discourage me from going, you’re failing.” Enzo laughed.

“Oh, well,” Damon lifted his head, smirked, “I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

Enzo grinned, sat up a little, pulled Damon forward. When they kissed, Damon tasted the blood they’d just shared, and it was heaven.

“There’ll be excessive amounts of free food, too,”

“Mm, sounds terrible.”

“, and free alcohol.”

“Oh,” Enzo laughed, “You’re definitely failing.”

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Caroline stood in the kitchen, furiously scribbling down a list–probably the same list that she’d been rewriting and restarting for a least half an hour now, tearing out pages and starting all over again.

“So, Caroline,” Stefan began hesitantly, never having thought he’d be afraid to venture into his own kitchen, “I have a favour to ask.”

“Christmas is three days away, Stefan, I don’t have _time_ for favours.”

“It’s just, um-”

“ _Nothing_ is organised! And Tyler’s no help, he just keeps telling me I’m ‘wound up’! I mean, do I look wound up to you, Stefan! Do I?” She gestured violently in the air, blonde curls bouncing with the movement, “I’m just _dedicated_ to organising things that _no one else_ seems to care about organising!”

“Well,” Stefan cleared his throat, “There’s two more people to add to the guest list?”

Caroline whirled around to face him, mouth open, face horrified. “ _What?”_

“Um. Damon’s coming home?”

“Well! Damon’s coming home, is he?” She scribbled down angrily in her notebook, sounding more like a grumpy old woman than anyone so young should’ve, “Right! Well I guess I’ll just reorganise my _entire world_ to suit him!”

“And his, uh,” Stefan gestured timidly, “dinner date?”

“Dinner date! Of course, at the last second, someone swoops in with a plus one! I can’t believe,” she started writing, then looked up, squinting, “wait. _Date?”_

“Maybe? I’m not sure. All I know is, he sounds happy, so,” he held up two crossed fingers, “I’m hoping for the best.”

“That’s suspicious, is what that is.” Caroline proclaimed. “I can make it work. Only because we’re friends.”

Stefan smiled. “Your mercy knows no bounds.”

She glared. “Don’t be so sure.”

He nodded. “Right.”

 

***

 

Snow was streaming thick and fast down from the dark sky, covering the ground with pristine white. Kids were running around, beanies and thick woollen jumpers protecting them from the cold, parents chasing after them with scarves and promises of being grounded if they didn’t stop behaving like, well, children. There were Christmas trees _everywhere_ , randomly dotted on street corners, poking out between buildings, perched next to vending machines. There wasn’t a single structure that had escaped being covered in fairy lights, and baubles hung randomly off almost everything.

“Jesus,” Enzo said, looking around with wide eyes, “when you said ‘the whole shebang’, I didn’t really believe you.”

“Just wait,” Damon smirked, “they haven’t even started the ceremony yet.”

They were walking arm-in-arm through the Mystic Falls’ central park, leisurely wandering as people milled about them, building snowmen and installing giant Christmas trees that towered as high as single-storey buildings. Enzo saw a sign that said, ‘Christmas Tree Decorating Ceremony This Way’, and he raised his eyebrows, impressed and slightly disturbed by humanity’s obsession with sticking things onto trees.

“I _really_ didn’t believe you.”

“Well,” Damon sighed, a cloud of condensation floating in front of his face, “here you are, witness to the insanity of Mystic Falls.”

“I do think it’s lovely, truth be told,” Enzo said affectionately, watching a boy run past with a pile of snow in his gloved hands, “it’s somewhat… _dramatic_ … but lovely nonetheless.”

“It’s stupid,” Damon muttered.

Enzo laughed. “You’ve been annoyed since we crossed the border. What is it, sweetheart?”

“Not annoyed.” Damon mumbled. He kicked a stray clump of snow in his path.

Enzo’s eyes widened. A smirk twitched at his mouth. “You’re nervous.”

Damon stopped in his path, jaw clenched tight. “I was born in eighteen thirty-nine, Enzo! Hedonism was hardly a small offence when I was a teenager! My father damn near beat me to death for it! I can’t help but be slightly nervous about coming home with…”

Enzo stopped too, eyebrows raised.

“…Coming home with…?”

Damon swallowed.

Enzo smiled wider, stepped forward. “Coming home _with_ , Damon…?”

“With…” Damon fidgeted, looking down, “I don’t know…”

Enzo couldn’t help but beam at him. At Damon Salvatore, cheeks pink with embarrassment, flakes of snow powdering his jet-black hair, looking for all the world like the lovesick twenty-five year-old he’d been when he was turned. Looking down at the ground, sheepish and shy, kicking at the snow like a child.

“…With a… boyfriend, I guess. Or something. I don’t know-” Damon turned away, but Enzo caught his wrist.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said softly, smiling, “I’m sure it’ll turn out fine.”

Damon turned back, reluctantly, but Enzo could see the smile on his lips, the light in his eyes.

“Yes, by the way,” Enzo continued, reaching over, taking both of Damon’s hands in his, “I will be your boyfriend.”

Damon scoffed. His cheeks were still pink. “What, because we haven’t been _dating_ while we’ve been cavorting every night and dining on a first class human buffet?”

Enzo grinned wider. “Have we been?”

“I…” Damon was at a loss for words, quick retorts lost to him, and Enzo was so, so in love, that he couldn’t prolong this amusing game anymore.

Watching Damon squirm wasn’t worth the strength it took not to kiss him.

It was somewhat cheesy. Kissing next to a Christmas tree, under falling snow, professing some kind of dysfunctional love to one another despite the horror that their past spelled out. But Damon’s mouth tasted like honeycomb ice cream, and Enzo couldn’t bring himself to care how _human_ this all was. And, oh, how _mortal_ it felt, to love Damon Salvatore; how bare he was, how exposed to Damon’s every touch and word. How few defences he had towards the man he’d once despised with every fibre of his body.

They parted, and Damon breathed out, hot air against Enzo’s lips.

“Well,” Damon breathed, “I suppose it won’t be so bad.”

Enzo grinned. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, gorgeous.”

 

***

 

They walked up to the Salvatore house–which was _huge_ , Enzo couldn’t help but notice. When they got to the door, Damon fidgeted, undoing his collar for the fourth time this last half hour. He apparently couldn’t decide whether to have it done up or not.

“It looks fine, darling,” Enzo said, turning to him, smiling, “Your entire body looks fine, if you’d prefer I’m entirely honest with you. But your collar’s nice too.”

Damon grinned, did his collar up again. “Shut up.”

They stood there a moment longer, Enzo patiently waiting for Damon to get himself in order. He could hear movement in the house; people, activity, food and drink and song. It sounded like…

 _…family,_ Enzo thought, and a small, warm place inside him rejoiced. He wanted this. He wanted Damon to be his family.

“You ready?” Damon asked, voice slightly unsteady.

Enzo smiled, knowing the question wasn’t really intended for him, “Of course.”

Damon nodded. Slowly, and with no small amount of nervousness, he reached up, and rang the doorbell.

 

***

 

Stefan looked up from the cranberry sauce he was setting down on the table, under the dictation of Caroline, who had them all under some kind of militant rule. He grinned widely, and glanced towards Caroline, as if asking for permission to leave the current task she’d assigned him.

She smiled, sweet as ever. “Go get him,” she said.

Stefan nodded and went to the door, wiping his hands on his jeans. Family reunions over the years, particularly between him and Damon, had a record of being messy and nasty. He didn’t want this today. He wanted a perfect Christmas for everyone.

He pulled open the door, and blinked in shock.

Where he’d expected to see Damon standing next to a pretty girl, maybe a girl with long brunette hair and innocent features, there stood a man. With dark hair, a smirk to rival Damon’s, and the unmistakable scent of a vampire. One of his hands was in his jacket pocket, but the other was entwined with Damon’s, and Stefan understood now why Damon had laughed on the phone; _bring her home for Christmas,_ Stefan had said.

“Damon,” he said, not really caring _who_ Damon had brought home, rather that he was home at all.

Damon smiled, and it made Stefan’s heart ache to see the edge of nervousness in his expression. He remembered the wrath of their father; home hadn’t always been a kind place.

“Hey, brother.”

Stefan stepped forward, deciding to bypass all social awkwardness and brotherly angst, pulling Damon into a hug.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, and leaned back, smiling, “really.”

Damon nodded, a softness to his eyes, a shyness to his smile Stefan hadn’t seen there for a long time.

“You too, Stefan. This is Enzo.”

The man held out a hand–Stefan noticed a daylight ring on his finger, and he noted it with interest.

“Lorenzo St John,” he said, speaking with a smooth British accent that was surely as old as Damon and Stefan themselves, “but my friends call me Enzo.”

He had a carefree friendliness to his actions that Stefan liked; he shook Enzo’s hand, smiling, hoping the earnestness of his feelings showed. Damon didn’t bring friends home, as a rule. This was special. Stefan wanted this to go well.

“Stefan Salvatore, good to meet you. Come on in.”

Enzo stepped inside smoothly. He looked towards the dining room, where the table was being set for a small, private dinner; Caroline was running around frantically, her shrill voice occasionally rising above the din of the gathered guests. Elena was setting the table. Bonnie was stressfully arranging flowers under Caroline’s drill sergeant stare. Matt and Tyler were cluelessly hovering at the edges of the room, too afraid to leave in case Caroline decided she was in the mood for murder. People ran in and out, all the guests that had already arrived having been conscripted into Christmas preparation duty. It looked like chaos, to Stefan, and slightly terrifying, but Enzo’s face softened, almost sad.

“Looks homely,” he said softly, and Damon reached for him. Took his hand, squeezed it gently, reassuringly. Their eyes met, and Stefan felt like he was witnessing an impossibility; there were very few people Damon was this loving towards.

“Dinner’s starting in just under an hour,” he said, hating to interrupt, but feeling like he needed to say something, “Caroline’s the fierce enforcer of this event, so if you’d like to take Enzo for a tour, Damon, I’m sure someone will come and get you when dinner’s ready.”

Damon nodded, smiled. “Thanks, brother.”

Stefan nodded in return, and returned to Caroline, feeling like he’d done something good.

 

***

 

Damon did take Enzo on a tour, which was honestly the most pedestrian thing he’d done since paying _rent_ for god’s sake, but it was made somewhat more bearable because, well, Enzo was impressed. And while part of Damon knew it was because Enzo had never had anything to his name, it also kind of nice to subtly imply that this place was now Enzo’s too, if he wanted it. Which Damon hoped he did. Really.

“And this,” Damon said, opening the door to his bedroom, “is the most important room in the house.”

Enzo wandered in, grinning. “Your room, I presume?”

“You know me so well.”

Enzo fell backwards onto the bed, arms splayed. He sniffed, face scrunching up. “Bit dusty.”

“Yeah, well,” Damon lay down next to him on his side, “I haven’t been home in a while.”

“It’s a bloody lovely situation you’ve got here, you know,” Enzo said, “you should appreciate it.”

Damon frowned, deliberately playing obtuse. “What, my magnificent bedroom and surprisingly durable bed?”

“Your house. Your family.” Enzo quietly replied, not rising to the bait. He rolled his head sidewards, gazed at Damon with an open stare, and Damon almost wanted to look away, knowing there was nothing hidden in his eyes, that he was being trusted with the deepest parts of Enzo. “Even if they’re a royal pain in the arse sometimes, you’ve got them.”

Damon laughed dryly. “Trust you to make this all serious.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

“That conversation you just had with your brother? I’ve never had anything like that.”

“Yeah, well, you do for tonight.” Damon shuffled closer, perching his chin on Enzo’s shoulder, “And you’ve got me. What more could you possibly want? I can be all the royal pain in the ‘arse’ you’ll ever need.”

Enzo smiled at the ceiling. “You do make a compelling point. And a terrible impression of my accent.”

“You know you love it.” Damon shifted up, resting his elbows beside Enzo’s head, and kissed him. When he started moving on top of him, however, Enzo’s hand pressed hard against his chest.

“What?” Damon asked innocently.

“Not now.” Enzo said sternly.

Damon pouted. He wasn’t above antics. “Why not?”

“Your family’s downstairs, and it’d be extremely rude to keep them waiting. Also, someone will be coming to get us, when dinner is prepared,” Enzo added dryly, an eyebrow raised, “and you did mention you were reluctant for anyone to know I’m your new boyfriend.”

Damon smirked. “I’m getting there, don’t worry. By the end of the night, everyone’s going to know.”

“Should I be worried about how you aim to accomplish that?”

“Definitely not.” Damon rolled over onto his side again, supporting himself on an elbow. Something in his expression changed, and Enzo frowned.

“What is it?”

Damon chewed on his lip. “…You’re not my new boyfriend.”

Enzo’s frown deepened. “What?”

“You’re… not my new boyfriend, Enzo. You’re my first boyfriend.”

Enzo blinked. Damon continued to look expectantly at him, but Enzo didn’t know quite how to react. He hadn’t been aware he was the first man Damon had ever been in a relationship with–he realised, thinking back, Damon had only ever mentioned lovers and affairs, never partners. He opened his mouth, but closed it again, not knowing what to say.

“Lorenzo St John,” Damon said, grinning widely, “speechless. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Enzo smirked back, and yanked him down for a kiss.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Stefan!”

“Coming, Caroline,” Stefan called back, obediently entering the kitchen, where Caroline was aggressively slicing roast duck, “how is my expertise needed?”

Caroline pointed the knife at him threateningly. “Don’t get cute.”

“Sorry.”

“I thought you said Damon had a date!” She continued, the knife–to Stefan’s relief–returning to the duck.

He shrugged, deciding he’d be tactful; Damon had never brought home a man, as far as Stefan knew, in all these years, and he didn’t want to ruin anything by jumping to conclusions about what Damon was comfortable with people knowing.

“I guess he just brought his friend instead,” Stefan replied, hoping the casual lie wouldn’t be perceived by Caroline Forbes, The Great Lie Detector, running on overdrive due to This Year’s Greatest Party, as he’d heard her call it numerous times.

“What’s that about Damon’s date?” Elena inquired, appearing with an entire array of champagne glasses on a silver tray.

“Elena! Get those onto the table now!”

Elena waved Caroline’s demand away, probably only one capable of doing so right now, “Shush, I’m talking to Stefan.”

“Uh,” Stefan resolutely did not meet Caroline’s furious stare, “Damon said he was bringing a dinner date, but I think he brought a friend instead. That’s all.”

“Well that’s still great!” Elena grinned. “It’ll be nice to meet one of Damon’s friends.”

“Yes, it’s all _great_!” Caroline exploded. “Now, get those glasses _onto_ the table, Elena!”

“Or,” Elena continued, ignoring Caroline with a sparkle in her eyes, “maybe this new friend _is_ his date?”

Stefan shrugged as if he didn’t know, more interested in escaping the kitchen with his life than continuing the conversation.

“What?” Caroline snapped out of command-and-conquer mode for a moment, “Since when is Damon into men?”

“It’s a free country, Caroline,” Elena replied, unfazed.

“Bonnie!” Caroline shrieked suddenly, heading for the dining room, “What did I tell you about _colour_ composition?”

Elena and Stefan watched her go, both mildly troubled.

“Think we’ll survive this?” Stefan asked.

“We can only hope,” Elena replied. “Should we save Bonnie?”

“Better her than us.”

 

***

  
Stefan escaped, eventually, heading up to Damon’s room. He knocked, waited a few minutes for the customary shuffle of fabric that he was used to hearing whenever Damon was in a room with someone else, and the door was closed.

“Brother dearest!” Damon said brightly, throwing open the door, his shirt undone. Behind him, Enzo looked mildly embarrassed from where he sat on the–slightly crumpled–bed. Stefan entered the room, unperturbed; it’d been a long time since Damon and his numerous affairs had possessed the capacity to faze him.

“Please come downstairs before Caroline separates my head from my neck,” Stefan asked, not entirely above begging at this point.

“Are you referring to the blonde one downstairs?” Enzo asked.

“I am,” Stefan replied, as Damon did up his shirt, “and she’s probably the one you should appease tonight, so.”

“I will try my hardest,” Enzo replied, smiling, all old-time graciousness and politeness. There was something odd about the way he spoke; etiquette like that had been weeded out of most vampires, as they evolved with the ages. Stefan could’ve sworn it was as if Enzo’s manner had remained unchanged for at least a few decades.

“Don’t try too hard,” Damon scoffed.

“I didn’t tell anyone, by the way,” Stefan said, “that you two are together. I thought I’d leave it to up you, to reveal it in your own time.”

Damon smiled, seeming impressed, “Thanks, little bro.”

“He’s not nearly as bad as you made him out to be,” Enzo remarked thoughtfully.

“Shut up,” Damon muttered.

Stefan grinned, turning to leave. Banter like this really was music to his soul. “I’ll see you both downstairs. Don’t take too long.”

 

***

 

Everyone was seated by the time Damon and Enzo emerged into the room. They were dressed in dark suits; deep blue for Damon, black for Enzo. Everyone regarded Enzo with curiosity, but he didn’t seem fazed; he was smiling widely at the assembled company and the feast before them, as if he’d never seen a Christmas party before.

“Only a small gathering,” Damon said, pulling out a chair for Enzo, “count me in as relieved.”

“Thanks, Damon,” Caroline replied icily.

Damon winked at her as Enzo took his seat. “It all looks delicious, blondie.”

After a moment of shock, caught entirely off-guard by the lack of sarcasm in his voice, she smiled sweetly. “Well, thank you.”

“Everyone,” Damon said, as he took his own seat, “This is Lorenzo St John.”

“Please,” Enzo added, “call me Enzo.”

“Stefan Salvatore, you’ve already met,” Damon pointed around the table, “that’s Elena Gilbert, Caroline Forbes, Bon Bon-”

“ _Bonnie_ Bennet,” Bonnie interrupted, glaring.

“-Little Gilbert-”

“He means Jeremy Gilbert,” Jeremy said, seeming more interested in the champagne before him than being annoyed.

“- Matt Donovan, and Tyler Lockwood.” Damon grinned at Enzo. “The Mystic Falls protection gang, in all its glory.”

Enzo nodded graciously, “Very good to meet you all.”

“Right!” Caroline clapped her hands together. “Now that that’s over and done with, let’s _eat!”_

“First,” Stefan interrupted, raising his glass, “a toast, to Caroline Forbes, for organising this celebration!”

“And for not killing us all,” Tyler added, grinning. Caroline rolled her eyes at him, and he blew her a kiss over the table, saying, “Love you, babe.”

“To Caroline!” The table chorused.

 

***

 

Even Damon had to admit that Caroline had done a fantastic job getting everything organised. The table was brimming with food, and adorned with flowers, cutlery laid out neatly on serviettes folded with perfect precision. There was an entire roast turkey, sitting proudly in the middle of the table, surrounded by Christmas ham, sliced salmon, roast duck, slow-cooked vegetables, roast pork, and several other meals Damon didn’t think he’d have time to try. He’d snagged his bottle of bourbon and stashed it under the table if he got bored, but with the eggnog, champagne, apple cider, and wine, he wasn’t sure he’d need it. Though he didn’t want to pass up an opportunity to tease Caroline a little because, hey, a guy had to have his fun. And he was actually quite fond of her, now that he had the gall to admit he’d been a dick when they’d first met.

The best part of the night–aside from watching Matt, Tyler, and Jeremy get progressively dunker and argue about football–was seeing Enzo enjoy himself. Damon reached under the table and put a hand on his knee, because the champagne was making him feel enjoyably fuzzy, and goddamn, he _loved_ this idiot.

Enzo glanced over at him when he did it, and Damon raised his eyebrows innocently, taking a sip from his rapidly emptying glass. Enzo smiled, and placed his hand on top of Damon’s.

And, of course, Elena chose that moment to inconveniently pipe up and say, “So, Enzo, tell us more about yourself!”

Enzo laughed, still holding Damon’s hand under the table. “There’s not much to tell, in all honesty.”

“Oh come on,” Tyler interrupted, way too loudly, “Damon brought a friend home! It’s a miracle, we have to know more.”

“Tyler,” Caroline said disapprovingly, “I think you’ve had one too many. Matt, cut him off.”

Damon grinned. “Thanks, blondie.”

“Don’t call me that,” Caroline retorted, but–to Damon’s delight–she was smiling too.

“You seem like a really nice guy, Enzo,” Elena continued, ignoring the interruption, “Where are you from? What’s your story?”

Enzo shrugged, picking up his glass and taking a sip. “England. Eighteen seventy-six.”

“That makes you, what,” Elena squinted in thought, “One hundred and thirty-six?”

“He’s practically a baby,” Damon muttered into his glass, earning him a snigger from Stefan.

“Wow, what was life _like_ then?” Bonnie asked.

Enzo smiled dryly at her across the table. “Quite awful. It was very easy to die of consumption–or, as it’s known now, pulmonary tuberculosis.”

“Oh, yikes. Sorry I asked.”

“That’s quite alright, sweetheart. It was some time ago.”

“Hey,” Jeremy interjected, “just curious, were you a soldier?”

Enzo smiled brightly at him. “I was indeed. What gave me away?”

Jeremy shrugged, smiling sheepishly. Damon could’ve sworn the kid had a thing about seeking approval.

“I don’t know, just a few of the phrases you used, a few things you said.”

“Well,” Enzo raised his glass in a mock-toast, “you’re quite the deductionist, young man.”

“He’s hardly Sherlock Holmes, that’s for sure,” Matt laughed. Jeremy smacked him on the shoulder in retaliation, the whole table laughing in union.

“So,” Caroline said suddenly, a glint in her eyes that made Damon nervous, “how did you two meet?”

Damon swallowed the last of his champagne, and looked at Enzo. The whole table was watching them, and–to Damon’s annoyance–had fallen silent, everyone apparently curious to know the answer.

“In slightly less-than-desirable circumstances,” Enzo replied quickly, with a smile that fell just short of being convincing.

“Mm. Not really dinner conversation, Caroline,” Damon added, holding Enzo’s hand slightly tighter under the table, “and I’d hate to ruin this lovely spread you’ve prepared.”

“How about,” Caroline thought for a moment, “ _when_ did you two meet?”

Damon pursed his lips, thought about it, trying to make light of the discussion, as if pinpointing the date didn’t require him to sift through some of the most traumatising memories he possessed. “Nineteen fifty…”

“…three.” Enzo finished, also keeping up the laidback act. Damon wondered if they were fooling anyone.

“Really?” Stefan asked, surprised.

“Long story, brother, not one for tonight.” Damon said, deciding he needed to put an end to the conversation. He let go of Enzo’s hand and lifted the bottle of bourbon out from under the table, along with two glasses, immediately earning himself a horrified gasp from Caroline.

“You can’t drink bourbon at the table! It’s not _traditional!_ This is _Christmas,_ not every other day of the year!”

“This is my house, blondie, and I will do what I please,” Damon smirked, pouring a glass and holding it out to Enzo, “and so will he.”

Enzo stared between the glass and Caroline, eyes wide. “I’ll stick with champagne, I think. I’d hate to disappoint the lady.”

Caroline said, “thank you”, at the same time Damon whined, “what about disappointing _me?”_

“Um,” Enzo took the glass and timidly held up the champagne with his other hand, smiling hopefully at Caroline, “What do you say to both, milady?”

Even the great and powerful Caroline Forbes couldn’t resist Enzo’s charm, apparently, much to the relief of everyone present; she laughed, and the rest of the table laughed too, albeit slightly nervously.

“Fine, fine,” she said, throwing up her hands, “but I’m not cleaning up the vomit!”

Elena raised her glass in a toast, grinning, “to compromise!”

“To compromise!” Everyone chorused.

 

***

 

 After dinner was finished, Caroline ordered everyone into respective clean-up roles, except for Enzo, who she said was allowed to relax, because he was a guest.

“That’s hardly fair to the others, sweetheart,” he said, in response to a hateful glare from Damon, who was currently occupied washing dishes, “give me a job, I insist.”

“Okay, well,” she said, producing a dishcloth as if she’d been expecting him to ask, “you can dry the dishes.”

He took the towel, smiling graciously. “It’d be my pleasure.”

“You know,” Damon said, as Enzo joined him at the sink and Caroline ran off to supervise someone else, “you could escape, if you wanted. I know I would, if it were possible to do so without being stabbed.”

“The opportunity to watch you being domestic is too good to pass up, I’m afraid,” Enzo replied smoothly, picking up a plate, “you just look far too cute wearing those gloves.”

“Don’t call me cute.” Damon snapped, scowling. He started taking off the flower-patterned plastic gloves Caroline had insisted he wear, but Enzo held one of his wrists, smirking.

“Leave them on,” he murmured, leaning forward to whisper into Damon’s ear, “and I’ll reward you later.”

He leaned back, and Damon grinned mischievously, in a way that plainly indicated Enzo had won.

“That sounds suspiciously like bribery, Enzo.”

“You know me,” Enzo grinned, “I’m not above doing whatever it takes in order to get what I want.”

“And what you _want,”_ Damon held up the incriminating scrubbing brush, “is to see me being domestic?”

“A man’s got to have his interests in life.”

“You two!” Caroline yelled from across the room, where she was occupied with trying to convince Tyler to give up his wineglass, “I see too much talking, not enough scrubbing!”

“Yes, sir!” Damon yelled back.

“And don’t be a smartass!”

“I’ll try my hardest!”

 

***

 

After they’d all done their duties, Caroline instructed them to gather in front of the fire–which was roaring brilliantly, thanks to the work of Matt and Jeremy–so that everyone could come together for dessert and drinks. Thick custard was served alongside apple pie, with bowls of candy canes and cookies, and–notably–cubes of fudge were stacked high in an impressive pyramid that looked like it would’ve taken an eternity to set up. Everyone had a cup of hot chocolate each, and Caroline had wrestled them all into ridiculous Christmas scarves and stupid woollen hats. She’d moved the couches somewhere else­– _where_ , no one knew–so they all were sitting on the floor, in a circle around the table. A jug of eggnog also waited patiently next to the sugary treats, and would surely be finished before the end of the night.

It was nice. Really nice. And, while Enzo mourned the flower-patterned washing up gloves, seeing Damon wrapped up in a scarf and glaring out from under a knitted beanie was almost as adorable. Enzo sat next to him, their sides touching, and it was better than good. The people all around him might’ve been virtual strangers, but their conversation was happy and superficial, drunkenly cheerful and utterly without the heaviness Enzo was so used to feeling; he spent most of his time sitting back and listening, but he didn’t mind. This was the closest thing to family he’d ever experienced.

The food was rich, richer than he was used to; when Caroline asked why he wasn’t eating much, he smiled and made some excuse about savouring the taste, when the truth was that an excessive amount of food wasn’t healthy for someone who hadn’t eaten at all for seventy years.

Damon patted his leg comfortingly, in a way that could’ve been mistaken by the others to be a casual gesture, but Enzo knew what it meant.

“Ugh,” Matt said, flopping down to lie on his back, “I’m so full.”

“I second that,” Bonnie moaned, clutching her stomach.

“I third that,” Jeremy added.

Enzo laughed. “Humans.”

“Hey,” Bonnie raised a hand, “not human, thank you.”

“She’s a witch,” Damon explained against the rim of his hot chocolate–which he was obviously enjoying immensely, though he was apparently trying to pretend otherwise.

“I gathered that from your surname,” Enzo said to her, smiling, “It’s an honour to meet a Bennet witch. I’ve only ever heard stories.”

Bonnie nodded and smiled, looking towards Damon and saying, “Why can’t you be as polite as your friends?”

“Because, Bon Bon,” Damon grinned, “then I’d be boring.”

Enzo made a face of mock-distress. “You think I’m boring?”

“Of course not, you’re hilarious.”

“Let’s play a game,” Caroline suddenly demanded, appearing with an armful of glasses.

“No,” Elena whined, “Caroline, we’re tired.”

“And _full,”_ Tyler added.

“We’re playing a game, and that’s final.” Caroline cheerfully stated, pouring eggnog into all of the glasses. “A drinking game.”

 “Oh,” Matt struggled to sit up, “a _drinking_ game, I’m down with that.”

“I suppose I could stay,” Tyler grinned widely at Caroline, having been the one who had consumed the most alcohol over the course of the night. He was also the least inebriated, funnily enough. Enzo was immensely curious about him; he had the scent of both a werewolf and a vampire, and therefore was an impossible creature.

“Okay,” Caroline started handing out the glasses, “the game is called Never Have I Ever, and rules are-”

“Come on, Caroline, everyone knows how to play!” Matt laughed.

“I will admit to being inexperienced in this area, actually,” Enzo interjected.

“What!” Elena laughed, “What’ve you been doing for the past _century?”_

Enzo smiled, and did not answer the question.

“The _rules_ are,” Caroline continued, irritated at having been interrupted, “that every person has to say ‘never have I ever’ something, and whoever _has_ done that thing has to drink. We go around the circle.”

“So the point is to share our exploits?” Enzo asked.

Caroline grinned. “Call it a fact-finding mission.”

Damon sat up a little straighter. Caroline looked right at Damon, smiling in a manner that was both sweet and terrifying, and he squinted back at her petulantly. Enzo watched the exchange with amusement; it was plain that the young blonde vampire wished to have them reveal their relationship through the flimsy guise of a drinking game. Damon, to Enzo’s relief, did not seem upset by the prospect.

Miss Forbes, as Enzo privately referred to her, was quite the patient schemer. They did actually play the game, and for quite a while, before she enacted her plan to determine whether or not Damon was in a relationship with a man. Enzo was drinking far less than the others were, much to the surprise of everyone around him who, naturally, assumed his age qualified him to have been very adventurous throughout his life. He offered no excuses, preferring to dodge answering rather than lie to his hosts. 

“Never have I ever,” Caroline began, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes, “kissed a Salvatore.”

“Not true, you and I were together once.” Damon protested.

“I was _compelled,_ so no, that does not count,” Caroline waved him away, “Come on, everyone go.”

Next to Stefan, Elena began to fill up her glass. Enzo leaned forward, smirking, and gestured for Elena to pass the eggnog jug.

“What!” Caroline exploded, as others around the circle began laughing and making surprised coos and squeals.

“I was right!” Elena laughed.

“Everybody, meet Enzo, my boyfriend!” Damon proudly raised his glass to the ceiling, throwing an arm over Enzo’s shoulders and managing not to spill a drop of his drink. Enzo, pulled to Damon’s side, grinned and turned into him; as they kissed, everyone else cheered loudly, all apparently toasting and drinking though the game didn’t dictate they should.

“Wow, I didn’t see that one coming,” Jeremy remarked, grinning, earning himself a glare from Damon that he reciprocated with an even wider grin. Beside Jeremy, Matt and Tyler were still talking about football. How they managed to be so fascinated by the act of kicking and throwing balls was beyond Enzo. Bonnie was curled into Jeremy’s side, watching everyone else with a sleepy smile.

“Is no one shocked?!” Caroline demanded. “Since when are you into _men,_ Damon?”

“Always, actually,” Stefan slurred, having drunk more than almost everyone else, “there’ve been some wild parties throughout the years.”

“Mm,” Damon hummed in relaxed agreement, “the sixties were a _blast.”_ He still had his arm around Enzo, and Enzo leaned into him, smiling, almost wishing they could leave, celebrate together apart from everyone else. Damon would be so happy tonight; this was what he’d wanted, and it had gone perfectly.

“Wh…” Caroline stuttered, “Wait, hold on a second! _You’re_ into men too, Stefan?!”

Stefan shrugged, Elena looking just as unperturbed next to him. “Yeah, and?”

Caroline stared around the circle, eyes wide. “Alright. Never have I ever-”

“Hey!” Damon interrupted, “You just had your turn! It’s mine now!”

“Quiet!” she commanded, hitting him on the head, “Never have I ever kissed someone of the same gender!”

There was a chorus of laughter around the circle.

“Oh, Caroline,” Damon said, downing the rest of the alcohol in his glass, “so _boring!”_

“Shut up,” Caroline said, and Enzo obediently took a sip from his glass. He was trying not to drink too much, owing to his lack of exposure to alcohol. Beside him, Stefan drank–and, to the amusement and jeers of everyone but Caroline, Elena filled up her glass too.

“Elena!” Caroline clapped both hands over her mouth. “Since _when?!”_

“It’s fun to experiment!” Elena giggled, holding out her glass in front of her before downing it entirely, inspiring cheers and hollers from everyone. Beside her, Matt raised his glass in a toast before drinking.

“Oh my god, _you!”_ Caroline squealed. “Matt!”

“It was a _dare!”_ Tyler growled, head low as he filled up his glass.

Everybody burst out in stunned laughter–even Enzo was inspired to chuckle quietly, admitting he wouldn’t have anticipated that development.

“Wow! _That_ I definitely did not see coming!” Elena was rocking with laughter, clutching her stomach.

“Oh, I did,” Damon smirked, “all that pent-up teenage aggression…”

“Shut up, Damon,” Tyler grumbled, downing his drink.

Everyone’s gaze moved onto Bonnie, who held out her hands helplessly. “No can do,” she hummed.

Damon booed her. “Bo-oring…”

“Oh my god! Jeremy!” Elena squealed, bouts of laughter renewed as her brother began filling up his glass, “Wow!”

“I spent most of my youth stoned! Stuff happened!”

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Damon wandered into his bedroom, swaying on his feet, still clutching bourbon in one hand. Enzo followed him, endlessly amused by Damon’s drunken sauntering, keeping at bay thoughts of Damon’s reliance on alcoholic reprieve and how such an addiction may have impacted him in the past. He made a silent pledge that he’d prevent Damon from going to such lengths in the future.

“You know what?” Damon slurred, the bottle of bourbon landing slightly too heavily on his bedside table.

Enzo closed the door behind him. “What?”

“I’m glad I came home.” Damon spun around to face him, unsteady on his feet, throwing his arms over Enzo’s shoulders.

“Good to hear, sweetheart.” Enzo placed his hands on Damon’s waist, smiled affectionately at him.

“And I’m _very_ glad,” Damon continued, pressed his face into Enzo’s neck, grinning, eyes closed, “you came home with me.”

“Mm,” Enzo hummed, “you’re quite drunk, Damon.”

“So?” Damon tilted his head, kissed Enzo’s jaw.

“Call me old fashioned, but I prefer not to engage in romantic endeavours when my partners are intoxicated.”

“Oh, I see,” Damon’s voice was slow and sultry, dripping with confidence, “you’re being _good.”_

“I am.”

“Well,” Damon moved closer, so that they were pressed together, his mouth hot on Enzo’s neck, “I’m more interested in you being _bad,_ so…”

“Damon…”

“What? You afraid you’ll take _advantage_ of me?” Damon grabbed Enzo’s hand, lifted it underneath his shirt, and Enzo couldn’t help but willingly trail his fingers down Damon’s smooth chest. But he took a long breath, freed his hand from Damon’s grip, and took hold of Damon’s wrists.

“Oh, very _dominant_ of you _,_ Enzo.” Damon grinned widely. “You wanna tie me up?”

“Immensely,” Enzo replied, smirking, “but not tonight.”

Damon whined, “But _why not,_ Enzo?”

“Because,” Enzo kissed him on the cheek, “you matter to me, darling. And I’d sooner bed you like a price than I would a common whore.”

Damon laughed. “A prince, huh?”

“Indeed.”

Damon smiled at him, and Enzo was, for a moment, tempted to do as Damon asked and ravage him right then and there; he was so, impossibly beautiful, with his stunningly bright eyes, inky black hair, and exquisitely structured face. And his dazed, thickly intoxicated lust. Enzo was filled with memories of the recent times they had shared, experiencing every kind of carnal opulence possible–in lavish motel rooms they’d compelled their way into having, with men and women that came willingly and hungrily, the blood and the moans and the kisses flowing as freely as water.

And, lord, he was tempted.

“You’re too good for me,” Damon murmured, and Enzo realised, no, he could not do as Damon asked. Because this love deserved the best of him.

“No, my sweetheart. Never.”

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

_He’d_ _been waiting for Damon to return for at least an entire day now, and it wasn’t purely through lack of orientation that Enzo assumed it’d been that long. Doctors had come and gone from the laboratory, cycling through shifts; god forbid they become tired during their acts of horrific torture. There had been three rotations of torturers–which meant a full twenty-four hours._

_When the laboratory door finally opened, two men came out–and Damon hanging limply between their arms._

_Dead weight._

_Enzo stood, rigid and tall like he had been in battle. Angry. Ready to fight, and ready to wait for the opportune moment._

_He didn’t promise death to the guards, because there was no point. He just watched them. Stared hard enough that they’d have nightmares for years. He knew the look in his eyes was haunting enough to linger for the rest of a lifetime, because he occasionally caught a glimpse of his reflection, and it was a horrid thing. These men already regretted their actions, he could see it in the way they averted their eyes, the way they yelled and lashed out, angrier at themselves than the prisoners they escorted to and from the torture. They weren’t the doctors. They were hired hands. And he needed to do nothing than stare, remind them that they were putrid sinners who would burn for what they willingly turned a blind eye to._

_They threw Damon into the cell, and closed the door._

_The moment they were gone, Enzo fell to his knees, reached through the bars for his only friend._

_“Damon,” he whispered, voice too loud in the space, “Damon, you awake?”_

_Damon didn’t move, sprawled on his back where he’d been tossed, arm folded under his body at an awkward angle. There was an unusual amount of blood saturating his clothes; it was black in its thickness, weighing the fabric down. Sodden. Soaking the ground below Damon, trickling out. What little he had left, he was bleeding out. The doctors must’ve been determined today; less concerned with propriety than they were with results._

_It was then Enzo noticed Damon’s eyes were missing._

_Damon’s eyes grew back slowly. Enzo could tell from the way Damon’s eyelids changed shape, the eyes beneath them growing out from Damon’s eye sockets. Enzo didn’t fucking know why the doctors always cut their eyes out. It served no logical purpose whatsoever, except to satisfy sadistic cravings._

_Staring down at Damon, Enzo felt ill. He didn’t even have the strength to feel angry, in this moment. He was too tired. Too weakened by this horror, this torture, this pointless cruelty that went on, and on, and on.  He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this. He didn’t know what Damon had done to deserve this. Even if they’d done things in their past–how could anything justify this? He still had nightmares about the time Damon had been dropped back into his cell without any of the bones in his legs, because the doctors had seen fit to remove every single one and leave his limbs rubbery and liquid._

_The noises Damon had made couldn’t even have been called screams._

_He wanted to see the sun. He wanted to walk a distance further than the confines of his cell. He had dreams of what food tasted like. He had dreams of Damon, when he stared through the bars and saw his skin, his mouth, his shining eyes and his beautiful face. Damon was the only beautiful thing Enzo got to see. The only thing that wasn’t the brutal shine of sharpened metal or the dirty gloom of cell walls._

_“Unh…”_

_Enzo started, swallowing hard. Unexpected noises were not a captured man’s friend. His heart hammering, he realised it was Damon making that broken sound; he crawled towards him and gripped the bars, knuckles white._

_“Hey, Damon,” Enzo said, keeping his voice calm, putting on a smile just for Damon’s benefit. Damon wasn’t strong enough for this, hadn’t become used to the suffering yet. “Hey, buddy. You with me?”_

_Damon whimpered, breathing hard and fast, clutching his face. “My eyes,”_

_“You’re alright, Damon,”_

_“No, god, Enzo, I can’t, I can’t,”_

_“Damon, listen to me-”_

_“No! I can’t! I can’t,” Damon was starting to cry, and Enzo needed to stop this, because crying wouldn’t fix anything. There was no getting out. There was no escaping. Enzo had been captured for thirteen years and he knew crying would never help. “I just want it to stop, Enzo, please,”_

_“Hey,” Enzo reached through the bars for him, “Hey, come closer. Come on. Come over here.”_

_Damon dragged himself towards Enzo, eyes still tightly shut, tears starting to stream down his cheeks, mixing with dried blood. His mouth was grimacing with sobs he was only just managing to keep quiet; tremors shook through him, hitched breaths choking his throat. Enzo stretched his arm out as far as it could go, straining for him._

_“Come on. Just a little closer,” Enzo spread his fingers wide, “Come on, Damon.”_

_Damon crawled forward, shirt so sodden with dried blood that it was hanging off him like rags. The moment Enzo’s fingers touched his cheek, Damon’s mouth opened wide in a gasp. Enzo didn’t even notice his own lips parting with a shaking breath, mirroring Damon’s relief. Physical contact was all they had. The only thing that kept them going within this Hell._

_“I’ve got you,” Enzo whispered, “Damon, I’ve got you. I’m still here.”_

_Damon’s mouth trembled into a heartbreaking impression of his trademark smirk. Oh, how Enzo missed that smile. It was so broken now._

_“I don’t want to open my eyes,” Damon whimpered, “Please-”_

_“It’s okay, it’s okay. I won’t make you.”_

_“It hurts-”_

_“Lie down, Damon. Lie down, and it’ll all be better tomorrow.”_

_Damon laughed hysterically. “No,”_

_“Just do it. Just do it, Damon. Lie down. Please. I’ve got you.”_

_Enzo watched Damon sleep. He did it often, and was sure Damon did the same to him. It said something about trust, that he didn’t mind.  In fact, it was comforting._

_He lay down opposite Damon, on the other side of the bars. He fancied that Damon looked like a child’s doll, like a perfect porcelain man. He knew it was mostly only because Damon was drained of blood that his skin was white as snow, but still. He was beautiful nonetheless. He’d be beautiful in any world._

_Damon eventually roused himself from sleep, and Enzo mourned his peace._

_“Morning,” he said, smiling._

_Damon blinked, and tentatively touched his eyelids. He smiled unconvincingly, his stunning blue eyes too scared to be properly happy. But there was a small amount of gratitude in his face; Enzo felt something warm and thrilling inside of him, knowing he was the reason for the small piece of relief in Damon’s expression._

_“How do you know it’s morning?” Damon replied, his voice gravelly and dry._

_“It’s whatever time we want it to be.”_

_“Hm,” Damon closed his eyes again._

_Enzo watched him for a while. Then, he reached through the bars, touched his fingers to Damon’s mouth. Immediately, Damon’s eyes opened. Watching Enzo watching him. Nothing unseen. In this moment, they shared everything._

_Damon parted his lips, and kissed Enzo’s fingers._

_“When we get out of here,” Enzo whispered, “I’m going to take you somewhere nice. Somewhere I can touch you without these goddamn bars between us.”_

_Damon didn’t move for a long while. Then, he smiled, suddenly affectionate, suddenly warm. He reached through the bars, and Enzo watched his hand approach, until there were fingers against his lips. He kissed Damon’s fingers, pretended he was kissing Damon himself._

_They stayed like that._

_Watching each other._

 

***

 

Damon woke up, and he was alone in bed.

He sat up, looked to the window, where Enzo stood. His bare back was colourless in the moonlight, shadows smoothing his skin. Damon watched him for a moment, just like he used to. Just like they used to.

Damon slid from the bed, knowing Enzo could hear him, knowing Enzo probably didn’t want to talk right now. Damon wrapped his arms around him, held him tight, pressed against him because he knew it was what Enzo needed. Mouth against his neck, chin perched on his shoulder, open palms against his stomach.

Stillness.

“This is the first time I’ve dreamed about that place and it hasn’t been a complete nightmare.” Enzo said, eventually.

Damon didn’t congratulate him on such an achievement, didn’t make a joke. It wouldn’t have been appropriate and, though he was an insatiable joker, Damon respected this. He respected their nightmares. What they’d been through.

He reached up, put his fingers to Enzo’s mouth.

Just like they used to.

Enzo slid a hand onto Damon’s wrist and held it, breathed against Damon’s palm and kissed his skin. Damon could hear the tremors in his breath, and knew Enzo had been resubmerged in it, utterly enveloped in the horror of the cells. All it took was one bad night.

“We made it, Enzo,” Damon murmured softly, “we made it out.”

Enzo turned around and held Damon, like he’d never been able to back then; his expression was wild, desperate, tears in his eyes. He grabbed Damon’s face between two hands, kissed him deeply. Damon kissed back, cupping Enzo’s neck.

“We bloody did,” Enzo breathed, “god, we did.”

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Caroline looked upon her work with satisfaction. All the leftovers from last night were laid out on plates, along with porridge, cereals, sliced bread, and diced fruit. She could hear everyone else in the house stirring, making their way out of bed. She took immense pride in having timed the breakfast preparations perfectly, so that there would be a buffet waiting for everybody when they came down.

She sat proudly at the dining table, a mug of coffee cupped in her hands, and waited.

The first person to slowly come down the stairs was Damon. His black hair was mussed and spiky from sleep, and he looked exhausted, his shirt buttons half undone. Caroline regarded him with concern, for a moment, before putting on a perfect fake smile, just for his benefit.

“Good morning!” She chirped.

“Morning,” Damon replied quietly. He paused in the doorway, blinking slowly at the food before him. “Wow.”

Caroline proudly held out her hands, gesturing at the buffet, “Ta-daa!”

Damon smiled tiredly, but the expression–to Caroline’s relief–was genuine. He fell onto a chair, grabbed a plate from the stack near him, started loading turkey onto it. He made a sandwich, bit into it, and groaned with satisfaction.

“You’re a godsend, blondie.”

“I know,” she grinned. Damon chuckled and returned to his sandwich.

“…So,” she eventually hedged, “you look tired.”

Damon shrugged.

“When’s Enzo coming down?”

“Later.” Damon said, too quickly, “He… had a rough night.”

Caroline nodded slowly. “So that’s why you look wrecked.”

Damon smirked in his please-stop-talking way, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. “We don’t need to discuss it.”

Caroline tapped her fingers on the side of her mug. “I have something else we can discuss.”

“Oh no. That doesn’t sound fun.”

“Well, I did some deep reflection, and some soul-searching,”

“Good for you, Caroline.”

“, and I’ve decided that we’re all guilty of bad things. We’ve all hurt people. We’ve all _killed_ people. With the exception of Matt.” She frowned. “I think.”

Damon scoffed, “Your point?”

Caroline smiled sweetly. “I forgive you.”

“…For?”

“For how you acted when we met, and for what you did to me. I don’t hate you anymore. The truth is, it’s within any vampire’s nature to do bad things. It’s who we all are, you and me both.” She shrugged, sat back in her chair, “I mean, looking at the way you are with Enzo… you’ve obviously changed, Damon. And so have I.”

Damon sat holding his sandwich in front of his face, staring dumbly, as if Caroline had stunned him.

“…Say something? Damon?”

He slowly put down his sandwich, swallowed, nodded to himself.

“You forgive me.”

“…Yeah?” Caroline hedged, “I just… said that.”

Damon sighed, and rubbed his face tiredly. He obviously needed a few pints of blood. Caroline wondered when he’d last fed.

“You don’t have to.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said you don’t have to forgive me, Caroline–I was a _jackass_ back then. A really bad one. I don’t really deserve your forgiveness, nor did I even _ask_ for it.”

Caroline frowned. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected.  Something about Damon was vulnerable and bared, and she got the impression this wasn’t only about her; she thought about Enzo, the way Damon had acted around him, the way he’d dodged questions about how they’d met. There was a story here, and she sensed it wasn’t entirely pleasant.

“Well,” she sat forward, smiling, “it’s good thing I do whatever I want.”

 Damon looked up, confused. She grinned wider, and after a moment, Damon’s face softened into a sad smile.

“Thanks, blondie.”

She nodded, satisfied with her success, “You’re welcome. Now,” she stood, coffee in hand, “I have to go drag everyone down here before this gorgeous food gets cold and all my effort goes to waste.”

“Leave Enzo to sleep in.” Damon sighed.

“Sure.”

“And, Caroline,” Damon said, turning in his seat, “I won’t waste it.”

She turned back from the doorway, frowning, “Won’t waste what?”

“Your forgiveness.” He said quietly, “I promise I won’t waste it. I don’t intend to become that person again.”

She blinked. Part of her wanted to make a quip about how Damon would probably revert to his murderous ways the second something went wrong with his love life, but somehow she felt he _meant_ it, this time. For real.

“…Good.” She replied, genuinely touched in a way she hadn’t been for a long time.

He nodded, with a small smile that was barely noticeable but softened his eyes in a way Caroline had only ever seen him look at Elena, and went back to his breakfast.

 

***

 

The succulent, rich smell of cooked meat, and the warm scent of fresh blood woke Enzo up. When he opened his eyes, Damon was standing next to the bed, smirking, a plate of food in one hand, a bag of blood in the other. Enzo smiled up at him, remembering the days when he’d been without his memories, and Damon had greeted him like this, every single morning.

“You missed breakfast.”

“Sorry,” Enzo murmured.

“Doesn’t matter, we can stay as long as you want,” Damon sat down, the bed dipping under him, “plenty of breakfasts to be had with the family.”

Enzo frowned. “How long do you want to stay? That’s what matters, sweetheart.”

Damon smiled, put the plate and the blood on the doona over Enzo’s stomach. Enzo picked up the bag, put it to his lips, and sucked deeply. His eyes fell closed, and he couldn’t help the moan that built in his throat.

“I’ve spent a lot of time in this house,” Damon’s was warm on Enzo’s shoulder, “too much time. I’d rather be out with you.”

Enzo took the bag from between his lips, sighed, and craned his neck to smile up at Damon. “You don’t need to lie.”

Damon frowned. It was cute, really, the way Damon thought he was so subtle. Cute, and sad as well.

“What’re you talking about, Enzo?”

“You want to leave, because the longer you stay, the more you feel that you’re keeping a big, terrible secret.”

The humour bled out of Damon’s face immediately, and Enzo almost regretted bringing it up.

Almost.

“You’re afraid to tell your family. About how we met, about our past.”

Damon looked to the side, uncomfortable. Enzo put the plate of food and the empty blood bag on the bedside table, and sat up, taking Damon’s face between his hands like he had the night before, forcing Damon to meet his eyes.

“You still feel guilty,” Enzo smiled sadly, “you shouldn’t.”

Damon’s blue eyes, so bright and vulnerable, looked pleading. His face was set in determination, as if he was putting all his effort into not crying. Enzo hated to see that expression on his face, but he hated the truth more. And they needed to talk about this. Enzo needed to make him talk about this.

“Don’t feel guilty, Damon. Please.”

“It’s just…” Damon drew a shaking breath, held one of Enzo’s wrists like he needed some kind of lifeline, “…seeing you the way you were last night, I can’t help but feel that… it’s my fault. That you have nightmares. That you…”

“You tried to get me out,” Enzo reminded him, “the flames were too hot, and too strong. You’d just spent five whole years being _tortured_ , Damon–do you really think I blame you for being scared of the vervain? Or for wanting to escape more than anything else in this world? Or for seeing death as a valid escape from what I’d experienced?”

“I know you don’t _blame_ me, Enzo,” Damon’s voice became shaky, and Enzo felt Damon’s jaw clench against his palms, “which is the _issue.”_

 “You couldn’t have broken those bars, Damon, not after being in captivity for so long. It’s impossible to think-”

“I should’ve tried harder!” Damon lurched away from the bed and stood, fast and violent, laughing with an edge of hysteria to his voice, “You were the entire reason I got out, and I should’ve tried harder to _save_ you! You _deserved_ that!”

“I forgave you, Damon.” Enzo stood too, determined not to allow Damon to do this to himself, again _._

“I know! I know you did! But _I_ don’t have to forgive _myself!”_ Damon’s voice was rising, angry, and Enzo knew the entire household could undoubtedly hear them arguing, “I don’t have to be _okay_ with this! You should _hate me!_ And no matter how long we spend together, no matter how good this feels, I will _always_ be to blame for what happened to you! And, you know what? I’m selfish, Enzo! I want to forgive myself for what I did! Because I _love you!”_

Enzo looked at him. Looked at his tear-filled blue eyes, his beautiful face, so tormented with distress and guilt. And, because he knew there was nothing he could say, he said nothing.

Instead, he smiled, softly and gently. Lovingly. Saying with his eyes what he knew he could never make Damon believe with his words. After the years they’d spent together in those cells, they both knew the power eye contact had. Entire worlds fell away when they were locked in each other’s gazes, and everything was forgotten. He’d made Damon forget unspeakable horrors and indescribable pain, and Damon had done the same for him. It would work now, as it had before.

Enzo stepped forward, slowly. Non-threatening. Not giving Damon another reason to run.

He slid a hand onto Damon’s neck, tenderly, felt the smooth curve of his skin. Damon flinched as if expecting to be hit, his jaw clenched tight. But he didn’t look away, and Enzo knew he was seconds away from breaking.

“There isn’t one single part of me that hates you, sweetheart,” Enzo wanted to hug Damon, pull him tight against his body, but he needed to see Damon’s face, needed Damon to look into his eyes and know this was true, “and I know what you’re trying to do.”

Damon swallowed. “And what’s that?”

“You’re trying to push me away,” Enzo smiled, “good luck trying, Damon. It’ll never happen.”

A tear spilled from Damon’s eye and onto his cheek, and his lips quivered.

“You should hate me,” he whispered, but Enzo shook his head slowly.

 “Never.”

“Then how?” Damon whispered, “How can I… atone?”

“You already did.” Enzo ran his thumb across Damon’s cheek, smoothed away the tears that were spilling down Damon’s face, “You’ve suffered enough.”

A sob broke through Damon’s clenched teeth. Enzo leaned forward, pressed his lips against Damon’s cheek, and that was when Damon’s control shattered completely. His hands rose, clutching at Enzo’s back, and he was crying against Enzo’s shoulder, sobbing openly, hitched breaths shaking him. Enzo held him tightly, remembering the days when Damon had cried openly after torture, shaking and convulsing on a dirty cell floor. Enzo didn’t want this, but he’d needed to get through to Damon. Needed to help him move on.

“How,” Damon whispered, words broken apart by sobs, “How do you not hate me?”

Enzo pressed his face into Damon’s neck, cupped the back of his head. “Because I’m too tired of hatred. I’m too tired of pain. I’m too goddamn tired of watching you try and set the world against you, instead of letting yourself be loved like you deserve to be.”

Damon laughed brokenly.

“I love you, Damon, for god’s sake.”

Enzo would say it until the end of time, if it meant Damon would one day accept it.

 

***

 

Only Elena and Caroline had stayed after Boxing Day breakfast was finished; they, along with Stefan, had been sitting on the couch, talking about relaxingly superficial nonsense, when they’d heard it. Raised voices, coming from Damon’s room. They’d all fallen silent, not sure what to do. Damon had told them Enzo had been tired, which was why he hadn’t come to breakfast.

“Is that…?” Elena whispered.

No one answered, because the raised voices had stopped. It went quiet, and they all sat, waiting for something else to happen, unsure what to do.

That was when the crying had started.

At first, Stefan had assumed it was Enzo crying, and felt awkward at most, wondering what had upset him. Then, he’d recognised the voice as being Damon’s, and felt something inside him recoil in horror. It had been many, many years since he’d heard Damon cry. He couldn’t imagine what it would take, to drive his brother to such a state.

“What the hell,” Caroline breathed, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Is that Damon,” Elena whispered, “ crying?”

They’d sat in stunned silence for a while, as the quiet sobbing impossibly continued.

“He seemed upset this morning,” Caroline was staring into the distance, looking as traumatised as Stefan felt, “like he felt… guilty, about something. He kept talking about forgiveness.”

No one had a response to that.

 

Damon came downstairs, eyes red from crying, still watery with tears. Behind him, Enzo walked slower, his hands in his pockets, face troubled. Stefan got up from the couch, trying to ignore his racing heart; he’d sent Elena and Caroline into another part of the house, certain Damon wouldn’t want them here. Beyond that, he was certain of nothing; it wasn’t like Damon, to cry like this. He didn’t know what to do.

“What’s going on?” He tried to keep the accusation out of his voice, but couldn’t help but demand, “What did you do to him?”

“He didn’t do anything, Stefan.” Damon said quietly, “leave him alone.”

Enzo looked pained, genuine anguish in his expression, and Stefan decided to believe that this wasn’t his doing. He kept a hard edge to his gaze, however, when he met Enzo’s eyes, promising violence if he had, in fact, caused Damon to cry like this.

“I need to talk to you, Stefan.” Damon’s voice was scratchy and quiet, and he started to wander out of the room, not meeting anyone’s eyes, “Let’s go for a drive.”

Stefan tore his eyes away from Enzo’s, and followed him.

 

***

 

Damon drove without speaking, and Stefan didn’t speak either. He didn’t know what to say. Damon and Enzo had seemed so happy last night, so carefree and in love–he couldn’t understand how everything could’ve so quickly deteriorated.

Stefan was frightened by the tear tracks down Damon’s face.

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Damon drove Stefan to a field.

In the middle of it was a giant wreck; the burned remains of a building, crumbled to the ground. It looked to have been a small building, only one storey high. Damon got out of the car and sat on the bonnet. Stefan stood staring at the building, dumbfounded and confused, and then joined Damon on the bonnet.

“…What’re we doing here, Damon?”

Damon was staring at the wreck with haunted eyes. He didn’t answer for a long while.

“When I went missing. When I wasn’t answering your calls. This is where I was.”

Stefan looked between Damon and the burned building, a pit in his stomach.

“Did you burn it down?”

Damon nodded.

“Were there people inside?”

Damon nodded again, and Stefan felt sick. There was no remorse in Damon’s eyes.

“Before you judge me, Stefan,” Damon whispered, voice so desperate it sounded broken, “know that those people were detaining Enzo here, and torturing him. They deserved to die. And I could’ve killed them in much more terrible ways. But I didn’t, because I refused to be like them.”

Stefan’s eyes widened. “Torture? What’re you talking about? Who were these people?”

“They were…” Damon’s mouth curled into a snarl, “…Augustines.”

“Augustines?”

“They were part of the… Augustine Society. They were a group of sadists and doctors who made it their mission to kidnap, imprison, and torture vampires. They said they were doing it in the name of science, but I always knew that was bullshit,” Damon huffed out a bitter, helpless laugh, “The things they did to us, keeping us in cells, strapping us down in tables and cutting us apart, and then waiting for us to heal so they could do it all again…”

Stefan’s stomach tightened, and he felt his heart start hammering, sprinting, beating like helicopter blades.

“What do you mean ’us’, Damon?”

Damon closed his eyes, despair filling his face, as if he hadn’t meant to say it, as if he hadn’t meant to let that slip out. He opened his mouth, sighed, and Stefan was horrified to see tears fall down his cheeks.

“You were a _prisoner_ here?” Stefan whispered.

“Yeah.” Damon’s voice shook. “Yeah, I was.”

“…When?”

Damon swallowed. “A long time ago. You and I weren’t on speaking terms then, and… by the time I escaped, it didn’t seem worth telling you. I always thought you’d rescue me, and when you didn’t come, I... didn’t see the point in making you feel guilty for what you didn’t know.”

Stefan felt his world spinning out of control, wondering how he could’ve missed this, wondering how he could’ve possibly let his brother suffer like this and not realise. He thought back, remembered locking Damon in the Salvatore house cells, and felt like he might vomit, seeing the tears on Damon’s face, thinking, _no wonder he did all he could to escape when I locked him up._

“How long?” His voice was unsteady, “How long were you locked up?”

Damon stared at the burned building with terrified eyes.

“Five years.”

Stefan felt his whole world stop.

After what felt like an endless amount of stunned, horrified shock, he slid off the bonnet, walked around to Damon, and pulled him into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Damon didn’t move, didn’t hug him back.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Stefan whispered, “I locked you in a _cell,_ Damon, I had no idea-”

“I was acting out, you did what you had to.” Damon’s voice was flat, empty.

“But why didn’t you ever just _tell me?”_

Damon didn’t respond, again, and Stefan was about to pull away, just so he could see Damon’s face and know what turbulent emotions were boiling beneath his skin, when Damon suddenly said,

“Because Enzo only made it out a year ago, and he was so damaged he didn’t know his own name. Because when I escaped all those years ago, I left him behind, even though I loved him. I was so afraid, Stefan, and I was so scared I’d never get another chance, so I ran. I turned off my humanity, and I abandoned him, and even though he’s forgiven me, and he _loves_ me, I can’t help but-” Damon’s breath hitched, all these words tumbling out of him, his chest rising and falling with panicked breaths, “I can’t help but hate myself, and-”

Stefan didn’t know what to do, so he held his brother tight, and said, “It’s alright, Damon. It’s alright, I’m here.”

There was a moment of hesitation, a second of deliberation when Stefan could feel Damon starting to pull away–but he didn’t, and suddenly Damon was crying without any walls keeping his emotions safely obscured, his sobs loud against Stefan’s cheek, his body shaking.

Stefan had never seen him like this.

“It’s alright, Damon,” Stefan promised, because he was afraid, but he knew he needed to be strong for Damon, “I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”

 

***

 

Enzo waited in Damon’s bedroom with his hands clenched tight in his lap, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He didn’t know whether Damon would come back or not. He was torn; if Damon left, he might be happier, but Enzo didn’t want to lose him. The world was still a terrifying place, a strange maze of new technology and violent people, and Enzo was so alone without Damon. He had nothing else. No one else. Nobody that cared about him, not one single person in this world who cherished him–except Damon.

But he knew what he had to do. He had to let Damon leave, if Damon needed to.

Even if it meant losing everything.

There was a creak of floorboards, and Enzo’s head snapped up, hope and desperation filling his face, hoping, _please be Damon, please be Damon-_

But, no. In the doorway stood Elena Gilbert, Stefan’s lover.

“Ah,” Enzo wiped at his cheeks, as if he hadn’t just been crying as he imagined life without the only person he properly knew on the entire planet, “I’m guessing you heard Damon and myself arguing.”

“I did.” She hesitated. “Can I come in?”

“It’s not a threshold, love. You don’t need to ask permission.”

She smiled too, stepped forward, made her way to sit beside him. They were silent, for a while, and he wondered why she’d come.

“I loved him, you know,” she said quietly, “I chose Stefan, but I loved Damon once. And he’s a good man.”

Enzo regarded her with surprise. “Damon seemed to think you hated him.”

She smiled sadly, laughed. “He’s done terrible things. But, so has Stefan. He was a Ripper, and he killed mercilessly. Damon kills because he’s hurting, and… I can’t blame him for that. Not when he has no one to comfort him. But, now…” her voice trailed off thoughtfully, “…he does have someone to comfort him. You.”

Enzo laughed bitterly. “That won’t do him much good now.”

“Yes, it will, because he loves you, Enzo,” she spoke so resolutely, as if it was the indisputable truth, as if she could see the future, “and he needs you. Just like you need him.”

“Just because you need someone doesn’t mean you should stay with them. I remind him of bad things.” Enzo didn’t know why he was telling her this, but she was kind, and he needed to talk to _someone._ “I hurt him.”

“You need to fight through that.” Elena placed a hand on his arm, turned to him, voice intensely positive. “There’s always hope, Enzo. Always. Even when there seems to be none at all.”

Enzo looked at her with mournful eyes. “I’d love to have your optimism, sweetheart, I really would. But it’s not my choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s Damon’s choice, now.”

 

***

 

Damon pulled up outside their home, turned the car off, and sat staring out the windshield.

“I want to be with him, Stefan,” he whispered.

Stefan regarded him with a fond smile. He reached across the car, put a hand on Damon’s wrist. Damon looked over, desperate, seeking some kind of approval, some kind of affirmation.

“Then be with him.” Stefan said.

 

***

 

Enzo heard Damon’s car pull up outside the house, and jumped from the bed. He ran down the stairs, burst out the door, throat thick with emotion, with desperation, with all the words he needed to say-

Damon was standing by his car, looking up at him.

“Damon,” Enzo whispered.

Next thing he knew, he was in Damon’s arms, and there was a mouth pressed against his own, hands at his waist, hands on his neck, hands running over his body like Damon needed to touch him, needed to feel him, needed to prove he was real.

“You came back,” Enzo said, and his voice was broken, shattered.

“Of course I did,” Damon hissed, “because, you know what? I love you. And I’m gonna be _selfish_ about this, and love you until the end of goddamn time, because we have _forever_ , and I want to spend it with _you._ And _no one else.”_

Enzo laughed helplessly, crying, “Okay. Sounds good to me.”

They kissed, they kissed, and they kissed some more.

Enzo would never stop kissing him.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

They left, because some wounds were better healed privately than in front of others. Damon put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and said, “tell the others about Augustine,” and Stefan nodded with a grim smile, not looking forward to retelling the story, but elated Damon trusted him that much.

“Come home whenever you want,” Stefan said, thinking, _please, please come home someday._

Damon smiled, let his hand fall, and stepped away from him. “Sure thing, brother.”

Stefan wasn’t sure what that meant, whether Damon would actually come back or he’d disappear again, run away from the pain and the memories. He looked over Damon’s shoulder, to where Enzo waited in Damon’s sleek convertible, and saw Enzo smile reassuringly, give a small nod in Stefan’s direction.

 _I’ll bring him home,_ Enzo was saying, _I’ll bring him home when he’s ready._

 

***

 

They found a motel, just like they’d done so many times before, but this time they didn’t compel a human into their embrace, didn’t need the thrill of the hunt or the heat of the blood. That wasn’t what they were looking for. They didn’t even discuss it; Damon just pulled up outside the first place he could find, meeting Enzo’s eyes with a shy, almost beseeching hunger in his gaze. He _needed_ this.

Enzo had nodded, smiling.

 

Damon pulled Enzo close to him, one hand buried his hair, the other at Enzo’s hip as he pushed into him, relishing the surprised whimper that fell from Enzo’s lips and spilled out over Damon’s skin.

“Damon,” Enzo breathed, mouth hot and wet against Damon’s shoulder, his body taut and rigid; they hadn’t done this for a while.

“Relax,” Damon eased him down, ran his hands up Enzo’s body, cupped his neck and kissed him, settled over him and pushed in deeper. Enzo gasped, a moan catching in his throat and coming out strangled. Damon looked down at him, heart hammering; Enzo’s arms were splayed out above his head, mouth open, hair spiky and mussed, dark eyes bare and full of _need_. Damon had him, so vulnerable and willingly helpless, and that meant more than Damon could truly fathom; that Enzo would be _weak_ for him, that Enzo would lay back and _let_ Damon do this to him, that Enzo would allow himself to want this. After everything he’d been through.

“I’ve got you,” Damon’s voice was ragged, his whisper too loud in the dark room, the curtains drawn, the world somewhere very far away from where they were, “Enzo, I’ve got you. Breathe. Breathe for me.”

Enzo did, craning his neck backwards, chest rising and falling. He tipped his head to the side, eyes fluttering closed, cheeks pink.

“I can feel you,” he murmured, “Christ, I can feel you inside me–just do it, Damon, please. I want you to.”

Damon started moving, hips slow and cautious, as he pressed his lips to Enzo’s neck, as he ran his tongue over the skin there. Enzo was breathing heavily, faster, faster, his hands gripping Damon’s back, palms open, fingers curled. Digging into skin, pulling, pressing, begging.

“Do it,” Enzo whispered, and Damon bared his teeth, bit down.

Enzo’s neck craned, his head falling to the side, mouth open. Damon started to move faster, thick hot blood filling his mouth, the sweetest elixir, rich and ancient and full of lust. Small moans, helpless and high-pitched, left Enzo’s lips every time Damon moved in him, every time he pushed harder, went faster. Enzo tasted like heaven. Damon could feel him, when they did this, like some kind of connection, as if he were sired to Enzo, as if he could sense every emotion Enzo was feeling. Everything was magnified, heightened, intensified. He could feel himself inside Enzo, in so many ways.

He pulled his mouth from Enzo’s neck, looked down at him. Enzo’s face was flushed, the side of one jaw covered in blood. His fangs had come down, pressing against his lip.

Damon tilted his head to the side, because he knew what Enzo needed. And he wanted it.

Enzo bared his teeth, a snarl hitting the air, and Damon’s heart started beating harder–he was on his back, suddenly, and Enzo was feeding from his neck, drinking him like the most pure wine, like the holy miracle that had once been water.

Damon lay limp, let his eyes flutter closed, because Enzo was in control now. The teeth were sharp in his flesh, but they didn’t hurt. He could feel Enzo, inside him, inside his mind and his body. A sway of hips made Damon gasp, as Enzo started to ride him.

“You’re beautiful,” Enzo breathed, straightening up, blood spilled from his mouth down his neck, trickling down his body, a carnal red streak in the darkness like a sacrificial ritual, like this was some kind of ancient bloodletting ceremony, “god, Damon.”

Damon smirked up at him, running his fingers down Enzo’s thighs, “God has nothing to do with this, baby.”

Enzo ran his tongue over his lips, fangs white in the dark, his eyes wicked and his smile pure sin as he swayed his hips.

“Oh, I know, gorgeous.”

 

They lay in the glorious aftermath, swimming in thick glowing ecstasy. Damon was draped over Enzo, which wasn’t strictly comfortable, but he didn’t particularly want to move until the world ended and he was forced to. This was the best end to a fight he’d ever experienced. He couldn’t believe he’d been determined to force Enzo to hate him; the bonds between them were pulled so tight, now, that he wasn’t sure he could escape them, even if he ran to the other side of the planet. He’d still be able to feel Enzo. Still be able to touch him.

They were buried inside each other, for better or worse.

“I’m so glad you came home,” Enzo whispered, a hand trailing down Damon’s back, red blood appearing black in the darkness, dark as liquid coal on white skin.

“Of course I came home,” Damon murmured, his lips at Enzo’s shoulder, “I was never leaving you.”

Enzo smiled, laughed quietly, and it sounded like heaven.

“Idiot,” he replied affectionately.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!! it's my first time writing these two, but I'm in love with the dynamic... so stay tuned, because I'm writing a porn sequel to this one~ ;)


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